


The Long Way Home

by ash818



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Road Trips, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash818/pseuds/ash818
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They get in the Porsche, and they just drive. Just the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Way Home

Dawn renders San Francisco in pastels, and Felicity squashes her pillow into a more comfortable shape against the passenger side door.

The Porsche's engine mutters at idle, and Oliver consults the GPS again. Then he leans over and murmurs very gently in Felicity's ear. "Yosemite or Sequoia?"

She starts to twist in her seat. "Hmm?"

He lays a hand on her hair. "You don't have to wake up. Yosemite or Sequoia?"

"Wanna hug a tree." She nestles deeper into her pillow. "Big tree."

He smiles, and he puts the car in gear.

 

On their last night in California, she moves slow and sinuous in his lap, and he leans back against the headboard and watches the play of shadows on her body.

Her hips go still, and she reaches for his face. "You keep looking at me like that."

There has been a smile in his eyes since the Starling city limit. It deepens when he says, "Like what?"

She bites her lip. "Like you can't believe it."

He turns his head and kisses her palm in answer.

"Hmm." She shifts her knees beneath her, and the next roll of her hips drives him deeper inside her. She smiles triumphantly when he gasps. "You will eventually. I'm very convincing."

A little breathless, he manages to say, "Still skeptical."

She raises an eyebrow.

His hands on her ass force her closer, closer, closer. "Come on and convince me a little harder."

 

They talk from one end of Arizona to another. New Mexico is deep, dear silence.

 

At the wheel, Felicity sighs as they crest a bridge and a fresh stretch of Interstate comes into view. "Oh, look, more Texas."

"It's only an hour to Austin," Oliver says, smiling. "I'll take you to the bar Tommy and I found after the City Limits fest the year we were here."

"I thought you got kicked out of that bar."

"It was a long time ago. I'm sure they've forgotten."

They haven't.

Luckily, there's plenty more Texas.

 

Atchafalaya National Wildlife Refuge is beautiful, in a strange and unwelcoming way.

Deep in the park, the palmettos thicken, and their new boots squish in mud dark as coffee grinds. The green-tinged sunlight broadens into gold, and they step around the cypress knees rising from the riverbank. Startled, a turtle plops into the water from the floating branch where it had been sunning itself.

"It's so quiet," Felicity whispers.

Oliver nods. "The island was like this sometimes. You could almost forget how alive the place was."

East to west, the bayou winds away placidly to the chirrup of insects. Felicity catches a blue heron watching her from a patch of slow-floating duckweed, standing impossibly still. When she stares back, it startles to life and glides away into the trees.

"I don't think he liked me," she tells Oliver.

"Staring is rude."

"He did it first!"

"I can't take you anywhere."

In the hotel room that night, she straddles his legs and smooths aloe vera on his sunburned cheeks. He leans back on his palms, eyes closed, enjoying the coolness and the steady pattern of her fingertips.

She cocks her head and says, "You look so Zen. What are you thinking?"

He opens his eyes, and there is that smile in them again. "Thank you for coming with me."

Her dimples show, and she dabs green gel on the tip of his nose. "Anywhere."

 

Walking the levee across the river from downtown New Orleans, taking a good look at the night skyline, they pass the old Algiers courthouse. A painted sign affixed to the brick declares, "Marriage Licenses - Marriage Ceremonies - Room 201."

They look at the sign, and they look at each other.

They keep walking.

Two hours later at a restaurant in the French Quarter, Felicity closes her eyes after the first bite of her bread pudding and makes a noise Oliver has only been privileged to hear quite recently. "This is the best thing I have ever had in my mouth."

Oliver raises an eyebrow. "You and the bread pudding should go to the courthouse tomorrow morning."

She blinks at him.

"What?"

"Did you just...?" She sets her spoon down. "You did."

"What did I do?"

"'If you love it so much, why don't you marry it?' Like a first grader."

He scoots his glass of port closer to him on the tablecloth, and he avoids her eyes via the brilliant strategy of taking another sip.

She leans over and pats his arm. "I'm sorry, darling," she says solicitously. "It's the second best thing I've ever had in my mouth."

He chokes on his drink.

 

They drive and drive and drive, until they run out of mainland United States. In Charleston, South Carolina, Felicity charters a sailboat.

"Oh, God, bad idea," she says when Oliver's face falls. "It's just an afternoon cruise in the harbor, so I didn't think - but you and boats is just - I'm sorry, I'll cancel it."

"No," he says softly, reaching for her hand. "Let's try it."

"You sure?"

"I used to..." He shakes his head. "I used to love the water. I'd like that back."

On Charleston Harbor, the sleek Catalina leaves a bubbly wake behind them, and the charter captain teaches Felicity to cleat a line properly. The sun gleams on the white hull, on the white sails, and on Felicity's white floppy hat and bright white shorts. Oliver doesn't get his old love back.

He gets something new.


End file.
